TT 24 - Douglas Has an Unexpected Pleasure.

When Douglas hears the side-gate open he is convinced that it is Michael Glebe, and he adopts the attitude of a man deeply immersed in thought.
"Alright Vic!"
It's not Michael at all, but St Maggie's newest parishioner.
"Don't mind if I join you, do you?" Dave Gill plops down onto the bench beside Douglas and lets out a sigh of effort. 30 years of Cocaine, alcohol and blonde model-actresses have taken their toll on his ticker. "What a fantastic bloody day, eh Vic?!" Dave clasps his hands beneath his grey pony tail and stretches out his drain-pipe legs.
"Ah, Mr Gill, an unexpected pleasure."

Whilst the Reverend Carduggan is not immune to the celebrity status of the former lead-guitarist of Crimfish, nor uncognizant of the fact that he could pay for the much needed repairs to the church organ with a single flourish of his cheque-book, he feels somewhat perturbed by Dave's bullish familiarity. Since leaving school, Douglas has successfully created a cordon-sanitaire of intellectualism and cultivation around himself: his little white collar the final ring of protection against the oppressively 'cool', easy-going popularity of Dave types. He is certainly not accustomed to being addressed as 'Vic'. To regain his priestly dignity, Douglas adopts a position of wry detachment in relation to Dave, and there is plenty to be wry about. At the same time, there is, in this battered old rocker, an openness, a curiosity, an innocent ability to relish the part without bothering with the whole, that Douglas can't help being drawn to.

"What you reading then?" Dave picks up Douglas's book, and nods his head sagely. "Ah, the old Saccry Representatziony eh? Quite interested in that myself."
"Really?" Douglas is slightly affronted for a moment, then the wryness returns. "In what capacity?"
"When we were doing the really big stadium tours back in the 70's, we did some pretty spectacular shows. For our 'Flick of the Devil's Tail' tour, yeah?, we kind of took some ideas from old christian mystery plays and spectacles, then twisted them, you know..." Dave trails off. He has realised what he is saying. "It's quite interesting though, that whole history of Christian theatre, isn't it Father"
Douglas winces. He wonders whether Dave cares at all which denomination provides his spiritual fix.

"I'm not a Catholic Priest, Dave."
"No, I know that, Vic." Dave is slightly puzzled.
Douglas decides to let it go. "So - to what do I owe the pleasure?"
"I want to talk to you about Isaiah, chapter 40, that bit about the voice that crieth in the wilderness...” Dave holds out his hands and looks skywards. Douglas puts his arm over the back of the bench and prepares himself to listen. Which other of his parishioners, after all, would bowl in full of the joys of spring to talk about Isa.40:3.

By the time Dave leaves, Douglas decides he rather likes the fellow, extraordinary as he is. What's more, he's left Douglas with some interesting thoughts about how the rock gig is today's equivalent of the old religious spectacle. No wonder the Anglican church faces an uncertain future when it leaves the task of affecting the mind, memory and will of the unlearned masses to scruffy young rock stars. He picks up his empty mug and his book and makes his way back to the house. Again Alison catches sight of him and again he is lost in thought. This time, he is pondering whether he would look preposterous in a leather jacket, not unlike the one Dave was wearing. Which is odd, because as Dave drives back to the farm in his Land Rover he’s thinking he’d quite like a proper tweed jacket with leather patches on the elbows like the Vicar’s - and perhaps a cap to match.